


A Way of Life

by Avalonmedieval



Category: The Men of Shiloh, The Virginian, The Virginian Series, Western - Fandom
Genre: Cattle Wars, F/M, The Virginian - Freeform, Western, a little romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6977665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avalonmedieval/pseuds/Avalonmedieval
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Stacey seeks to befriend the sassy daughter of a poor farmer during an intense dispute between ranchers and farmers; problem is, she isn't that easy to befriend. A mixture of  history, drama, & cheesy romance.<b></b></b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Men of Shiloh

**Author's Note:**

> Momma stayed with me after her knee replacement and to my disdain, she watched the Virginian often, but after awhile, the show drew me in...and now I am hooked. For it to be an oldie, the acting isn't bad, and the plots were intriguing. So much could be done with these plots in modern Hollywood, but I guess westerns are a thing of the past. 
> 
> So anyway...I have always wanted to write something western and I like the idea of fanning a show that was on before I was even born!
> 
> Disclaimer - I have only seen a few seasons of this show, so I do not know all the details about the characters - just in case someone reading this that is a hard core fan.
> 
> I know the Virginian was set in the 1890's, but I taking it back to the 1880's and bending historical dates for the purpose of this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fan fiction is a way of keeping characters alive, despite that their show has died. They live on through their fans.

Three tall men, donning cowboy hats and boots, stood overlooking a spring green valley, lush with vegetation. Each wore an angry expression.

“This was all ranching land once,” Stacey said, rubbing his forehead as if fighting an inevitable headache.

“You mean it was public land that ranchers utilized.”

 

Stacey glanced to the Virginian. What he meant was that it was really government land to use as they pleased. “This land has been used for generations by ranchers. If it wasn't for us, this territory would still be unsettled and infested with murdering natives and wild predators.”

The Virginian winced at Stacey’s jab toward America’s first people, but held his tongue, knowing that Stacey’s parents had been murdered by natives when he was a small child. Instead of saying it was their people who had robbed the natives of the land, he said, “And now that Wyoming is settled, that same government seeks to take the land from us and give it to farmers.”

“Poor ignorant fools. Wyoming’s soil is infertile and too dry to crop. The government knows this, yet continues to lure people, who know no better, to give up their lives back east and to come here, only to fail.”

Stacey and the Virginian nodded at Trampas, agreeing. Trampas, known for his sense of humor, was rarely serious, but the current crisis affected him. It affected every rancher who relied on public lands for grazing. Without these lands and with farmers blocking waterways, their herds would diminish.

“There are those who plan to fight back. You thinking about joining them, Stacey?” the Virginian asked, shifting his hip, so that his gun fit more comfortably.

“As heir to Shiloh Ranch, I have no choice. You of all people know what it is like to have your home taken from you. I have to fight. I have to fight to survive.”

The Virginian did sympathize. Once an officer in the Confederate Army, he had lost his home and family to the wrath of the Civil War. The Virginian grinned a half-grin and placed his palm against Stacey’s back in a brotherly fashion. “Well then, know I have your back.”

“As do I,” Trampas imitated the gesture.

“Hell, I already knew that. You boys are not cut out to farm. Ranching lies at the center of your souls, like mine.”

“That isn't it,” smirked Trampas, now joking. “If too many farmers settle here, they will also settle the town; out goes the saloons and in comes the churches.” Trampas was also known as a ladies’ man.

At that, both Stacey and the Virginian chuckled. Trampas did have a point. Men like them came west because it was more than just a place on the map; it was a way of life.


	2. Evie

“Hurry up, gal! The sun is setting!”

 

Evie glanced up at her stepfather, and fighting the urge to lash out, she nodded obediently instead, all the while thinking, _if you hadn't slept half the day away, recovering from the obscene amount of whiskey you indulged last night, we wouldn't be behind._ But she knew better. She knew not to speak out or her poor mother would suffer for her defiance.

 

Wrapping a bloody strand of burlap around her wounded fingers, the young woman swung the rusty sickle, slicing into the dense hay. Sweat glistened her sun freckled cheeks. She had been at it all morning, even while her alcoholic stepfather had slept.

 

Glancing to her right, she grimaced. Spotting her nine year old brother, sun burnt and weary, and on his hands and knees picking up hay, she forgot her own torment. “You are doing a fine job, Justice,” she praised.

 

Blushing back a strand of perspired-drenched curls, the little boy smiled. Evie felt her heart roil. No matter how wretched and fatigue Justice was, he never complained. Like their departed father, he had been blessed with fortitude. He was her inspiration. But little did she know she was Justice’s inspiration as well. They were two of a kind. Both fighters.

 

“Let’s make a game of it! Let’s see if we can beat yesterday’s yield by nightfall!”

 

Sparked by his sister’s enticing words, Justice lit into a working frenzy, laughing all the while.

 

Jameson, the children’s stepfather, shook his head at their foolishness. There was nothing fun about working. And there was nothing fun about children, which was why he had abandoned his three, along with their mother, back in St. Louis.

 


	3. A Day of Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the Virginian aired years without the use of language and adult themes, but for my adaption, I added them for a more realistic feel of the old west. You have been warned!

The Wyoming sun was bright and the wind unusually mild, making it a perfect day for Medicine Bow’s church picnic. It was Sunday; a day of rest for the town of ranchers and the small population of farmers.

 

Grasping her best friend’s hand, Dixie squealed, “Come on, Evie, I want you to see him!” in thick southern accent.

 

Not yet into beaus, but relishing a day off work and to spend time with her friend, Evie skipped along beside her, weaving through the clusters of families chowing down on picnic baskets of cured sliced beef, hard boiled eggs, and pickles .

 

“There!” Dixie yipped, pointing to a dark-skinned man, known as Stetson, standing amidst of wealthy ranchers enjoying glasses of fresh lemonade - a rare treat for people on the remote frontier.

 

“Dixie! Do you know who he is? He is Mr. Mason’s son of Sweetwater Ranch!”

 

Dixie narrowed her eyes. “Of course I know who he is!” But Dixie knew what Evie had meant. Mr. Mason was a member of the Wyoming Stock Growers Association and one of the wealthiest land barons in Wyoming. And he was way out of her league.

 

“She is a cute little trick, isn't she?” Stetson slithered in a voice so sleazy that even a harlot would blush.

 

“She is indeed,” replied Stacey. But it wasn't the busty blonde the young man was referring to, but the little redheaded temptress, standing barely five feet tall and flat chested, at her side. Capturing her gaze, he smiled at her; the kind of smile a man gives a woman letting her know that he is interested.

 

Stacey, being quite handsome and wealthy, was used to women flaunting over him. In fact, he had never been turned down. But this one did not return his interest, nor the smile. Instead she averted her eyes, coyish.

 

“Her name is Dixie and she is the daughter of Lamar.” The Virginian butted in.

 

Stetson, unaccustomed to wranglers - men below his status - joining in gentlemen's conversations, sneered. But knowing the Virginian's reputation with a gun and his friend Stacey’s friendship with his foreman, he held his tongue. _It was after all a day of rest._

 

“Lamar?” Stacey raised his eyebrows. “You mean that poor dirt farmer?”

 

The Virginian nodded. “Yep, that’s the one.”

 

 _Since Dixie was the daughter of a farmer, there was little doubt the girl at her side was also a farmer’s daughter._ Stacey’s interest suddenly waned.

 

“That is what I like about her,” snarled Stetson.  “A man gets tired of harlots and loose servants.”

 

“Do not underestimate a father just because he is poor. He loves his daughter just as much as a rich man. And he will fight for her too. And a fight is the last thing we need now that tension is already flaring between us and the farmers.” The Virginian was referring to the conflict between the recent flood of homesteaders and local ranchers. The land barons, who had settled the Wyoming Territory when it was nothing more than a feral haven for wild animals and rebellious Native Americans, did not want to share what they had built through blood and sweat with newcomers, who had not earned the right to call Wyoming home. However, the United States Government felt differently and had issued land grants, encouraging poor families to farm the dry soil of Wyoming, despite the land was infernal, and many of the homesteaders gave up and moved within two years.

 

“I am not scared of some dumb cracker, and neither should you be, Virginian.”  

 

“I am not. You missed my point entirely.”

 

To cool the dispute, Stacey placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. “A girl like that couldn't please you anyway. She is as innocent as the sun is bright.”

 

Stetson winked at the little southern girl, still mooning his way. “And that is what I find most appealing.”

 

Stacey did too, but he wasn't about to admit it out loud. Gentlemen were not suppose to talk that way about decent women - _but then again, he wasn't much of a gentleman since moving to Medicine Bow with his grandfather and working among the brutish wranglers at Shiloh._ Like Stetson, Stacey was heir to one of the biggest ranches in Wyoming, but unlike him, he worked sunup to sundown at the side of his wranglers. He regarded them as friends and respected them as if they too were wealthy cattle barons. Men were pretty much equal in Stacey’s eyes - a quality he had acquired from his grandfather.

 

Crossing his arms, Stacey watched as Stetson strolled toward the simple plow girl, wearing a smile as bright as the prairie sun. He chuckled faintly, watching the little redhead shriek away. She obviously knew her niche, and it was probably best that she did.

 


	4. Charlie

“You stupid boy! That ain't our calf! Don't you see the Shiloh brand? Are you trying to get me hung?”

 

Charlie peered down at the brand on the cow’s rump and after a few long seconds, he looked back up at his stepfather shame-washed. “I am sorry, sir. I didn't see it.”

 

“Are you blind as you are stupid?”

 

Biting her tongue, Evie clenched her fists to her sides to control her brewing anger. She wanted to punch her stepfather in his throat for verbally abusing her autistic brother. The poor child had thought he had found an orphaned calf and was saving it.

 

“It is alright, son. Just usher her gone before those boys over at Shiloh notice they have one missing.” Annie encouraged in a soothing tone, trying to tame the contempt in the air. Shiloh was the largest spreads in Medicine Bow with thousands of free roaming cattle. She doubted they would even notice one missing calf, but it was still best they get her off their property as soon as possible. No one wanted to be accused of cattle rustling. The penalty was death; hanging by rope, and most of the time, the locals did not even wait for a trial. They just took the law into their own hands and lynched the accused.  

 

“Yes, momma!” Charlie was quick to comply. He might have been slow, but he wanted to please.

 

“Stupid damn fool!”

 

Knowing the better of it, Evie spoke up. “Charlie is not a fool. He isn't dumb either. He is just simple. He can't help it, but he tries, and you don't even give him credit for the trying.”

 

Charlie was the oldest, but had the mind of the youngest of Annie’s three children, and that would never change. When he was wee baby, he had suffered rheumatic fever after a long bout of scarlet fever. Annie knew after the crisis had passed that her son would never be the same, but that didn’t matter, she loved him dearly and refused to abandon him to an asylum.

 

“Shut ya trap, gal, before I tan your hide!”

 

Reading the fire flaming in her daughter’s eyes and before she could retort, Annie placed a firm hand on Evie’s shoulder. “Please find Justice and yall two wash up for dinner. I cooked beef tonight - your favorite.”

 

“We have beef every night, momma, but you’re right, it is my favorite.”

 

“That is a good thing considering we live in cattle country.”

 

As Evie darted away, Jameson grumbled, “You coddle those brats when you should be tearing their asses up!”

 

 _I have to - to make up for the way you mistreat them_. She wanted to retort, but of course Annie lacked the spine to say it. She knew in doing so might cause her husband to beat her or even worse, beat her children as he had done time and time before. “I am sorry, husband. You are right. I will try to be firmer with them.”

  
Enjoying the feel of superiority, Jameson strolled toward the barn, where he would wash away his troubles with a bottle of whiskey - whiskey that he had spent his family’s much needed money for supplies on. Life had been hard on him. After gambling away his family’s home in St. Louis and to avoid the war, he had headed west to Colorado, raging with gold fever, leaving behind his wife and children. Years after working his claim dry, he decided free land was his best hope, but to claim a homesteader’s claim, he needed help working it, and that was where Annie and her children come into his life. Her husband had just been killed in a mining accident near Colorado Springs, and she was desperate for a husband; just as desperate as he was for free labor. Since his own wife and children thought him dead, Anne and her children had to do. Charlie might not have been right in the head, but he was strong as an ox and obedient. Evie was a willful girl, but a hard worker, and while Justice was little, he worked just as hard, but without the willfulness.


	5. A Bad Reputation

“Daddy is gonna kill me if he finds out!” Dixie said more enthusiastic than she should have. The thrill of forbidden love had overcome her sense of being a dutiful daughter.

 

“Then let us go. It isn't right what we are doing,” whimpered Evie. Sneaking up town in the middle of the night when they were supposed to be sleeping was not a thrill in her mind.

 

Dixie suddenly stopped and clasped her friend’s shoulders with both hands, a bit more dramatic than necessary. “Please, Evie, do not abandon me. I need you! Stetson likes me. He can give me all the things that I have dreamed of. He is like a knight in a fairytale and I his maiden. Can't you just be happy for me?”

 

Evie bit her lip, suddenly feeling like she was the worst friend on earth. _Of course she wanted nothing but the best for her friend._ “I am sorry. I am happy for you, but I am also worried. You know Stetson has a bad reputation. What if he isn't sincere? What if his intentions are not honorable? You know what the rumors say….”

 

“Yes, he does have a bad reputation, but that is only among soiled doves, not women like me. He wouldn't do that to me. I am a good girl. He loves me. I know he truly does.”

 

Not feeling Dixie’s assurance, Evie warned, “I hope you are right for your own sake.” A young woman only had one chance to get it right. While society tended to overlook young men being promiscuous, they condemned women for even the slightest provocation.

 

Like Evie, Dixie was a victim of poverty. Neither had ever known real comfort, and both were from Southern families left in destitute after the Civil War. Dixie’s family hailed from Alabama. Evie originally came from the Smoky Mountains, a sacred place belonging to the noble Cherokee people. The two had met two years ago on a wagon train headed west and for what they had hoped a better life.

 

And now here they were finding life was not any better west. They were still poor, still destitute, but at least in the South they had been respected. Here, they were detested and unwanted.

 

The two girls tied their horses to a tree veiled beneath the moonlight and headed on foot into town. As usual, the western night wind raged; howling and whipping through tree branches, casting a somewhat eerie atmosphere. The coyotes lamenting in the distance did not help matters.  It was after eleven, and while Medicine Bow was a quiet town during day hours, at night it often turned rowdy and lawless.

 

The young women slipped behind the saloon, keeping hidden from the street lights and glow of the full moon. They could hear a mixture of tawdry music, cat calls, and the laughter of dyed hair women teasing the rowdy drunkards casting the cat calls.

 

“Do you see him?”  asked Evie.

 

“I am too afraid to look! You do it for me. Please Evie!”

 

Sucking in a breath, mustering courage, Evie pushed an old crate over to the saloon window, climbed up and peeked inside. Scrolling a crowd of cowboys, drinking and gambling, she searched for Stetson. When her spring green eyes fell on Stacey, she paused. He was sitting at a card table with a whiskey in one hand and his other under the table, obviously groping the tart on his lap. Not accustomed to such a blatant, perverse display, Evie muttered, “My gosh…”

 

“What do you see? Is it Stetson?”

 

“She can't see me in there because I am right here.”

 

The two girls jumped at the unexpected voice and swirled around to find a grinning, half-intoxicated Stetson.

 

“Stetson!” Dixie exclaimed, bouncing into his open arms, ignoring the stench of whiskey coating his breath.

 

Shocked with her usually mild-mannered friend's wantonness, Evie lost her balance on the crate and tumbled.

 

Stetson - a little too quick - rushed to her aid. “I got you, little lady.”

 

“I am fine!” Evie snapped, wondering if the man had meant to place his hand so fondly on her rear. Fearing that he did, she looked to see if Dixie had noticed. If she had, she saw no sign of it.

 

“What is going on back here? Who is there?” growled Sheriff Emmett, coming around the corner with his firearm drawn.

 

“Damn it, Emmett, put that away!”

 

The three emerged into the light so that the sheriff could see them.

 

He recognized the two girls immediately. Lowly farmers always stood out from the locals by the way they dressed.  “What are you two doing out here this late? Does your parents have any idea where you are?”

 

“Come on, Emmett, you know what it is like to be young,” Stetson grinned, knowing that Emmett had been a wild one during his younger days.

 

“I do all too much….but those were different times and I was not a young lady!”

 

“Please do not tell my daddy!” Dixie whined, finally grasping the trouble she could be in if caught out unchaperoned with a man after dark. Besides being severely punished by her father, her reputation would be ruined. As it was, being a dirt farmer's’ daughter, she was already looked upon in shame.

 

Emmett did not much care for the new bout of farmers that were plaguing his territory, but the fright in Dixie’s voice softened him. “Alright, but just this once. Stetson you best be getting those girls home soon.”

 

“I plan to, but only after me and Dixie have a little fun. What do you say, darling? Want to take a walk under the moonlight?”

 

“I sure do!” The fright now a thing of the past. All she could see was her future, and her future was this man. She wasn't going to be like all the other farm girls that married other farmers, only to stay pregnant and work her beauty away before her time. She was going to be a fine rancher’s wife - a trophy wife, and have all the elegant things that come with being one.

 

“You can come too, Evie.”

 

Not liking the tone of Stetson’s voice, Evie shook her head. “I will just wait behind the saloon until y'all get back.”

 

Her reply seemed to please Dixie, but disenchant Stetson.

 

As the couple strolled away hand in hand, Emmett coaxed Evie from the shadows. “Come on, it isn't safe out here for a young woman alone. Come with me to the sheriff's office and I will put us on a pot of coffee.”

 

“It is a bit late for coffee.”

 

“Not for a sheriff of a town that never sleeps. But still, come on. You will be a lot safer with me.” Just from her eyes, Emmett read Evie’s purity and it saddened him. The west was hard on young, naive girls like her. Most of the time, their stories turned into sorrow if they lived long enough to even have a story.

 

Evie accepted Emmett’s hand, knowing it was offered platonically. As the pair strolled in front of the saloon, the door burst opened with Stacey rolling out of it. A bleached blonde rushed out of the saloon and to his aid. “Come on, lover, you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

 

Emmett released Evie to helped Stacey to his feet.

 

Staggering, his words a slur, Stacey leered at Evie, standing meekly awaiting Emmett’s company. Stacey liked his women petite, pretty, and virginal, and Evie was picture perfect. He licked his lips, eying her full pouty ones and said,“Well, well, what is a little dame like you doing out this late?”

 

“Stacey!” the saloon girl hissed, her feelings hurt.

 

Stacey ignored the whore. She was not even there, now mentally immersed with Evie. _Oh, the things he would do to the blushing girl if given the chance._ Being untouched, she’d cry in pain at first; her pain would be his pleasure. Just the very thought of her tightness caused his manhood to stir. But before it was over, he’d make her cry in a different way. He’d bring her to such rapture, she’d pant and wail until she squirted against his flesh, and he would relish every second of it as he pumped every ounce of male nectar he had into her.

 

Breaking Stacey’s trance, “Come on, Stacey!” the Virginian hollered, finally making his way out of the saloon. “I think we’ve had enough fun for one night.”  Then glancing in Evie’s direction, the Virginian nodded respectfully, “Ma'am.” He shot Emmett a warning glance, meaning someone like her should not be in town this time of night. She was pretty – too pretty for her own good. The Virginian, as well as the Sheriff, had seen firsthand what a pretty woman can do to a man’s mind, especially one that is drunk. And they had sadly seen the aftermath, and that was the last thing an innocent girl like Evie deserved.

 

The saloon girl stumbled back up the steps at the call of her boss, feeling rejected. Stacey was too intoxicated. She would not get any money from him tonight. But that was fine because there were plenty other horny cowboys inside with money to spare. It was just that Stacey could fill her gap, unlike the majority of men in Medicine Bow.

 

Emmett helped the Virginian get Stacey on a horse, then came back to Evie’s side. Finding her eyes wide and her reflection somewhat pale, he tried to soothe her by saying, “Stacey is drunk, but harmless. You do not have anything to fear from him. He has soft hands when it comes to the fair sex.”

 

But she did. She and every other farmer taking up ranching land and blocking water did. Neglecting to say what she felt inside, she collected his arm and continued on their quest for midnight coffee.


	6. A Spark

The next day Evie and her family were returning from a long day’s work in the field when a group of wranglers rode in hard.

 

“Get inside!” spat Annie to her children. The last thing she needed was for Evie to catch one of the wrangler’s eyes or for them to get wind that her Charlie was not right in the head. They were farmers. They were already outcasts, but their stigma would be nothing compared to how people treated them when they found out her oldest was touched in the head. Most of the farmers that had journeyed on the same wagon train knew about Charlie and had kept her secret from the townsfolk.  

 

Justice grabbed Charlie’s hand and raced inside to what safety their little sod dwelling offered. Evie, of course, lagged behind, curious and often too reckless. Placing herself out of view from her mother, but in plain sight of the wranglers, outside of the barn, and watched to see what would happen.

 

Not granting Jameson time to greet them, the Virginian announced in a voice demanding supremacy, “Some of our cattle are missing!”

 

Somewhat cowering, Jameson replied, “I am sorry to hear that, cowboy, but you won't find them here.”

 

“For your sake, you better hope that we don't!” The Virginian held up his hand, and Trampas, along with several others under his command, dismounted and headed toward the barn. It was then Stacey spotted the little beauty from the picnic, having been so intoxicated that he had forgotten their encounter in front of the saloon. He watched her step in front of Trampas, arms crossed, chest puffed out bellicosely.

 

“You heard my stepfather; your cows are not here.”

 

“Move aside, miss. We have orders.” Trampas was not quite sure to how handle the situation. Most women out west knew their place, and their place was beneath a man - _well at least that was the saying._ Trampas didn't exactly feel that way.

 

“You are not the law and you will not search these premises,” Evie threatened in a low tone and with southern sass.

 

“Get out of the way!” growled Laredo, Shiloh’s newest wrangler, and too often hot headed - a Texan trait. It seemed cattle were not the only thing he had little patience with.

 

Trampas, blocking Laredo, and impressed but also amused with the farm girl’s audacious spirit, snapped, “Mount up! Nothing here!”

 

“It better stay that way, Jameson. You farmers are treading on dangerous grounds already.” Stacey growled. Looking pass Jameson, Stacey’s eyes locked with Evie’s. She stood near the barn, hands on hips, eyes spouting venom, no longer portraying the coy girl he had eyed a week ago. He smirked, darkly amused. He had heard redheaded women were fiery; he just had never had the pleasure of finding out personally.

 

Following his gaze, Annie caught sight of her daughter and started toward her. Stacey smirked a second time, but this time from disgust, knowing the mother feared for her daughter’s virtue, like he was some uncivilized cowpoke that would ravish her on sight. He had a town full of women at his beckon call and that was not counting the saloon girls, who knew just how to please a man in the most lecherous way. He had no need of a simple plow girl who would be too timid to spread her legs for him.

 

“Let’s ride!” Stacey ordered, leading his men toward the next homestead of farmers in search of his missing cattle. _It wasn't that Shiloh really needed the few missing cattle; it was principle. Teaching these farmers the law of the west was for their own good._

 

A few yards away from the Jameson’ homestead, Stacey reined close to Trampas. “What did that little girl say?”

 

“She was far from being a little girl. I reckon she is about fifteen or sixteen. She told us our cattle weren’t there, and I am pretty sure if I persisted to check, she might have shot me.”

 

“Hmm, she’s got more grit than her father. That’s for sure.”

 

“You mean stepfather, Stacey.” Laredo butted in. “From what I’ve heard, the girl’s mother married Jameson right after her husband was killed, from wherever it was they came from. I guess it was marry or drop her drawers to support those kids of hers.”

 

“The South was where they come from. She had a southern accent,” Trampas added.

 

“Figures…” Stacey retorted.

 

Being an ex confederate, the Virginian turned his seldom hostility in Stacey’s direction. “You have something against Southerners?”

 

“Hell no, you know I don't. I just meant with the south being crippled, too many of their riff raff have found their way here.”

 

“I was once one of those riff raff.”

 

Now jokingly, “And we are glad you did. How could we have managed all these years without you?”

 

Not joking, the Virginian replied honestly, “You couldn't have.”

 

Stacey knew the Virginian was right. He had taught him all that he knew about ranching and how to survive the Wild West. He owed his foreman a great deal, but being the noble man that he was, the Virginian would never collect the debt.

 


	7. Strong

“ _Will you marry this girl?”_

 

_“I will not, nor is the bastard she is carrying mine!”_

 

Evie ran. She ran as hard as she could, blindly, into the wilderness, the words, those horrid words playing over and over in her head.

 

_“Slut! Whore! You have disgraced yourself as well as your family!”_

 

_“Please, daddy! No!”_

 

_“Call me daddy naught for you are no longer my daughter!”_

 

Crying so hard that she lost her breath, she collapsed and lacked the will to get back up, for there was no place she could run to free herself from the heinous memories. In utter despair, she stayed upon the ground, not even noticing the rocks tearing into her flesh, weeping uncontrollably. The rocks were nothing compared to the storm in her heart.

 

“There, there, sweet girl. It is going to be alright.” Ella did not have to ask what was wrong. The whole county had heard about Dixie’s fall from grace and banishment. Ella had seen the girl with Dixie in town multiple times and knew she was mourning her dear friend.

 

“Cattle Kate?” Evie choked back her tears momentarily, finding she was not alone. She knew the cowgirl before her - _well, not personally._ She had just heard town talk of the bold woman who claimed a homestead of her own on her own. She had taken a meager piece of dry earth and was turning it into a blooming ranch. She was doing so well that she had recently earned the right to brand her cattle; something small time ranchers well not allow to do.

 

“Ella will do.”

 

“Sorry.” Evie muttered, fighting it hard to withhold her tears.

 

“It is okay. I know Cattle Kate is what the townsfolk call me. What is your name?”

 

Almost a whimper - “Evie…”

 

“And those tears are for the little lady that left on the train this morning? Dixie I heard someone call her.”

 

At the mere mention of her name, Evie could not hold back her agony any longer. She exploded into anguish, sobbing relentlessly. Evie cried because Dixie had been treated unfairly and because she would miss her, but also because she felt partly responsible. She had known better. She should have made Dixie see what Stetson was. If she had not sneaked out with Dixie that night, Dixie would not have gone out by herself and she would not been pregnant now.

 

Ella sat down next to the wretched girl and took her in her arms. It didn't matter that she barely knew her; when a girl was upset, she needed comforting, and it didn't matter who consoled her as long as she had a shoulder to cry her heart out on.

 

“There, there, now. Your beloved friend is going to be alright.”

 

“How can you say that? She is barely seventeen and with child and alone in the world without a dime to her name.”

 

“What do you think would have been better for her? To give the child away?”

 

“Well no, but Stetson could have married her. He should have manned-up and took care of his responsibilities. She loved him. She trusted him! And he used her then discarded her, like she was a worthless plaything!”

 

“Do you really think marrying Stetson would have been good for Dixie? Oh, I am sure you do. That is what all naive young girls think. A baby and a marriage, and all will be fine. Stetson is known for rough hands with women, and you do not want that kind of life for your friend or her baby.”

 

“He could have changed.”

 

Ella shook her head from experience. “Men like that never do. Trust me; your friend is better off without him.”

 

Evie caught the sorrow in Ella’s tone, and asked, “A man hurt you once?”

 

“Not once, but many times. Would you like to hear about it?” Ella asked, hoping to take Evie’s mind off of Dixie.

 

“Yes, I would,” Evie replied, thinking along the same lines.  

 

“My father died, leaving ten mouths for mother to feed, so I married the first man that fancied me. He was a man much like Stetson, known for rough hands and a player of women, and I thought marriage would change him, but I soon found I had been wrong. Night after night, he beat me. I took it all because divorce was taboo and I had nowhere else to go, but the night he beat me with a horse whip was the night I decided nothing could be worse. So when that bastard” Evie’s eyes widen, and Ella chuckled, longing for the days when she had been as puerile. “Sorry, well, when he went to sleep, I left town and never looked back. To hell with society’s rules and I filed for divorce.”

 

“How did you make it?”

 

“I did what I had to do. So will your friend. She will make her way in the world. Stetson turning his back on her, her father casting her out, the shunning from the town, none of it has broken her. It will only make her stronger. And a woman needs to be strong to make it in this life or they just wither away to dust below a man’s boot.”

 

“My momma isn't strong. She takes it.”

 

“I pity her, but it is her choice. Everything in life is a choice. Our own choices. You can't make them for no one else. Now, Miss. Evie, tell me about your choice.”

 

For years, Evie had witnessed Jameson abuse her mother. She had been and still was repeatedly abused by him as well. She took it now because she had no choice. She was his ward. But soon, she would be her own woman. She held her head high, her voice deliberate and determined. “I won't be like momma. I am not going to be like Dixie. I am going to be like you; strong. No man will ever use and abuse me.”

 

Hugging her, wishing she had a child of her own, Ella chuckled, “I think strength is something you already have. And I pity the man who tries to break you.”

 

Now grinning, Evie joked, “If one tries, I will beat him with a horse whip!”

 

The two women laughed. They needed it. Both were going through hard times and bonding with kindred women seemed to ease their souls. After all, women were a rarity in the west, and they had to stick together.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Cattle Kate” was an actual person. She was the first and only woman hung in Wyoming. I found some information on her when I visited Lander and South Pass City. I doubt she would not have been around Medicine Bow, considering it is about a 2 hour drive from her old homestead, but I wanted to add her to this story.  
> [](http://postimg.org/image/tkbqe265n/full/)  
> [uploading pictures](http://postimage.org/)


	8. Enough is Enough

Six months later, the tension between ranchers and farmers was at a boiling point. Recently, members of the Wyoming Stock Growers Association had lynched and hung Cattle Kate without a trial, claiming her to be guilty of cattle rusting, when it reality they were making an example, showing what would happen to small herders and farmers that dared to advance. Wyoming belonged to the land barons, and they were willing to do anything, including murder, to keep it that way.

 

Ranchers began to accuse farmers of cattle thieving all over Wyoming, and in fear for their lives, many of them packed up in the middle of the night and fled, abandoning their homesteads they had worked so hard to build. Those who refused to leave were harassed endlessly. Only a few nights ago, a farming neighbor of Shiloh Ranch and Evie’s awoke in the middle of the night to find his barn incinerating in flames, his oats inside. He had lost everything and would be moving soon, leaving Evie’s homestead the only one between Shiloh and the east river, a place where Mr. Grainger liked to winter his herd.

 

Over the past few months, Mr. Grainger had offered on several occasions to purchase Jameson’s land, but to his own foolishness, he had refused, hoping to snare a bigger profit in a future offer. But the price he had in mind was absurd. _Why would Mr. Grainger overpay when he could easily seize the land when Jameson fell?_ To rush his failure, the ranchers made a pack not to purchase his hay. Without the sale of the hay, he could not pay his taxes and would be forced into foreclosure.

 

The world as Evie knew it was in spirals. She worked all day and hard for nothing. There wasn't enough food, and she, along with her family, was suffering from malnutrition. The people in the town shunned them; some even refused to sell to them. Just the other day, the wife of a shop owner called her a dirty plow girl and told her to get out. On Evie’s way out, she had thrown a tomato at her head. She found no refuge at home neither. Because of the lack of money, there was no whiskey, so Jameson took his anger out on his wife and stepchildren. Even now, her rear was bruised from last night’s whipping.

 

And on top of everything, Evie had not heard from Dixie. Now with poor Ella’s murder weighing on her shoulders, Evie wasn't sure she could continue to portray strength. Pain was eating her up on the inside. If she did not do something and soon, it would be the death of her - or at least her mind.

 

She needed to get away. She needed a break. Yesterday, Evie had turned sixteen and because there was no money, there had been no cake, so to celebrate, she decided to gift herself a wild mare she had been spying on for months. She needed something to lift her spirits, and that beautiful feral mare was just the thing. She would become her friend. Her confident. When things were going bad, she'd ride her fast, recklessly, allow her mind a break. They would escape their troubles together.

 

“Come on…” Evie whispered to herself. She had been waiting half the day mounted on the backside of a quarter horse, waiting for the mustang to make an appearance, and finally, just as the sun had reached midday, there she was. Stout and strong with the wind caressing her mane. She was breathtaking. And she was about to be hers.

 

Evie edged her horse forward, slowly, silently, slyly, not wanting to frighten the mustang away. With rope in hand, she was ready. Just a few more seconds and she would have her new friend.

 

CREAK...the mustang lifted her head, eyes darting wildly, hearing a horseshoe scratching a rock. NOW - Evie threw the rope, lassoing the mare around her neck. Not even a split second had lapsed before the feral horse lit out!

 

Evie was on her tail, so close she could hear the mare huffing. The wild horse rounded a river bend, hoping to overthrow her pursuer, but Evie was smart. She never strayed from the chase.

 

Reaching flat earth, it was time to pull snare and slow the mustang, but when she did, Evie found she was too weak to halt her. With each tug, Evie slammed forward, almost tumbling off her mount.

 

With Evie’s horse being a domestic quarter horse, he was no match for the vigorous mustang, and when he began to lose speed, Evie should have let go of the rope, but being determined, she gripped the rope even harder, making her fingers bleed.

 

Finally, Evie bit the dust. Her horse gave out and Evie tumbled forward and was dragged a few yards before losing her grip.

 

Evie sat up in a storm of dust, defeated, and watched helplessly while Stacey, Trampas, and Steve captured her would-be birthday present. The three experienced wranglers seized her with ease and rode away chuckling at Evie’s demise.

 

Everything she cared for was always taken from her; her father, Dixie, Ella, and now the beloved mare. _Her mother had promised the West would be different, but it hadn't been. It had not because of wealthy ranchers - ranchers like Stetson, who crushed Dixie’s heart and ruined her life - ranchers that had murdered Ella - ranchers who refused to buy their hay causing them to go hungry - ranchers like Stacey, who took, no stole whatever they wanted without any consequences._  

 

Evie stood up and dusted her riding skirt off. She picked up her cowgirl hat, put it back on, then mounted, and headed toward Shiloh. _Enough was enough._


	9. A Pleasure to Break

Stacey, Trampas, and the Virginian watched the wild mare buck wildly, trying to escape the corral they had just caged her in, but there was escape. They were her superior, and no matter how hard she fought, she would bow to them in the end.

 

“She is going to be a hard one to break,” muttered Trampas.

 

“It will take time; a long time,” added the Virginian, who was an expert when it come to horses, but unlike many other cowboys in the west, he was gentle when breaking. He had found the best mounts were befriended, not broken. A friend could make the difference in life and death on the range.

 

At the sound of rampant hooves approaching, the three men turned their gazes.

 

“Oh, O,” gasped Trampas. “What do you suppose she wants?”

 

“She thinks that damn horse belongs to her,” growled Stacey, not in the mood to tolerate the whims of a woman today. He had more important issues to deal with, like finding a way to boot Jameson out on his ass so that he could graze his cattle.

 

The cowboys watched and waited as Evie stormed her way to them. Her face was in an unintentional pout, the kind of pout that men, especially Stacey, found alluring. Her hair was windblown and disarray, adding to her defiant hull. She had barely dismounted when she hollered, “I want my horse!”

 

“What horse would that be?” Stacey asked, unable to hide the smile on his face. He couldn't help it. The scene was hilarious. _A little trick like that barging on to his property, demanding a horse that he captured fairly._ If she had been a man, he would have shot her.

 

“You know damn well which horse I am talking about!”

 

“Language, little lady!” Trampas joked, only inflaming her temper hotter.

 

“You stay out of this!” barked Evie, then she turned to Stacey. “My lasso was around her neck. She belongs to me and I want her back!”

 

“Look, little girl,” Stacey patronized, and she hated to be patronized by a man.  “your rope might have been around her neck, but you were not on the other end of it. We captured her on public land, legally, so you have no claim to her.” _What made farmers think that they can just move in and everything belonged to them?_

 

Evie rushed into Stacey so belligerently that he backed up thinking she would strike him. “I am so sick of it! You ranchers think the world belongs to you! You see something you desire and you just take it! You hog everything! To hell with the rest of us! You don't care who you hurt!”

 

The Virginian crossed his arms and leaned against a fence post, amused to see how Stacey would handle this.

 

She was as fiery as her hair was red. Instead of her behavior angering him, it excited him in a darkly erotic way. Stacey smirked. _He had definitely not taken everything he desired. If true, she would found herself pinned beneath his virile body months ago._ “I haven't hurt anyone!”

 

“Oh yes you have! You will hurt that beautiful mare! You see her as sport! You will abuse her to break her all in the name of sport!” By now her anger had conjured tears, and refusing to weep in front of these brutes, Evie turned to flee.

 

Most men in the area would have jerked her up and took her inside and teach her a lesson she would never forget, but Stacey was not most men. However, he was a man and in all men there lies a primitive, almost animalist nature, and right now that part of him was raging. In the back of his mind, the urge was there and he easily conjured it. Acting on nature, Stacey seized her arm, but gently, just enough to halt her. Before he could open his mouth, she screamed, “Take your damn hands off of me! I am not one of your sleazy saloon girls! You will not grope me!”

 

Stacey immediately released her, taken aback. _How the hell did she know anything about him and saloon girls?_  He stepped back, now a bit angry she thought him sadistic. “I wasn't trying to grope you! I was trying to stop you so that I can talk some sense into you!”

 

She stepped forward and jabbed her finger into his chest. Having to peer up at him, she rambled on, “You were trying to intimidate me! I am not Dixie! I am not Ella! I am not afraid of you and I won't be manhandled!”

 

Now he was at a complete loss. “I wasn't going to hurt you! Who the hell is Dixie and Ella? I don't even know what you are talking about!”

 

“Ella was Cattle Kate, and you and your lot killed her!”

 

Stacey clenched his fists, deeply offended. “I had no part in that! I’ve never hurt any woman!”

 

Evie mounted in a rush, stumbling, blindly enraged. As she fled, Stacey called out, “And I do not abuse horses either! I am as gentle with them as I am my women!”

 

As Evie’s stallion galloped from Shiloh, Stacey turned to find Virginian and Trampas grinning ear to ear. “What the hell was that?” He threw his hands up.

 

The men shrugged their shoulders, then headed toward the corral, not sure what to make of what had just happened. The mare was more irate than ever. It seemed she shared the girl’s anger.

 

After watching the mustang use her hind legs to kick at the gate, Stacey concluded, “She is as willful as that damn girl.”

 

“It would take even longer to break her,” Trampas chuckled.

 

Stacey wasn't sure if Trampas meant the mustang or the irrational girl who had just insulted him; either way, _both would be a pleasure to break._


	10. Change

 

“All the witnesses of Cattle Kate’s lynching had either been found dead or have vanished. The youngest was a 13 year old boy.”  The Sheriff eyed Stacey suspiciously.

 

“Emmett, seriously, do you think I was a part of that mob?”

 

“No, I don't, Stacey, but I know you are a member of Wyoming Stock Growers Association and so were her murderers.”

 

“Just because they belong to the same association doesn't mean we as a group conspired to have that poor woman murdered.” Stacey about had his belly full of accusations for the day. First, Evie and now Emmett, who he had known for years.

 

“I am not accusing you. I know you better than that. I know you to be a good man. I am warning you though that there is guilt by association. You may reconsider your membership; you and your grandfather.”

 

“Alright, Emmett.” Stacey lied, just to cool things over. The Wyoming Stock Growers Association was fighting for cattlemen like him, and he was proud to be a part of them. Their cause, their way of life, was worth fighting for. Emmett knew that and much of him agreed, but when innocent people turned up dead, he felt torn as a lawman. Even Stacey, at the moment, was a little torn.

 

“Another thing, Miss Evie came around here claiming you had stolen her horse.”

 

Stacey laughed. He figured she’d take it to the law.

 

“I tried to explain to her that you had in no way broken any law, but she was mad all the same.”

 

“She will get over it.”

 

“You sure about? The kid doesn't have much. Stacey, you are privileged. You might try looking at things from another perspective now and then.”

 

“Come on, Emmett. What is a wee bit like that going to do with a feral horse? I am probably saving her life. She should be thanking me.”

 

“Well, she doesn't see it that way.”

 

“And that right there is the problem with greenhorns. They move out here, ignorant, and instead of learning how things are done in the parts, they try to change things. Maybe Evie should see things from my perspective. After all, she and her kind invaded my land; not the other way around.”


	11. Women

Those monthly Saturday night dances was one of the reasons Elizabeth loved Medicine Bow so much. Tonight she donned one of her finer dresses; a dress her grandfather had imported all the way from Paris. It was a gown of ruby satin and trimmed in cream lace. Although it was too fancy for a frontier dance, Elizabeth did not care. Feeling like a princess, she was the center of attention tonight. Even her own friends envied her.

 

By the end of the night, her feet began to ache from having danced with every eligible bachelor and even a few that were not so eligible. Fatigued, she located her friends, clustered in a small group near the entrance of the dance, and sat down with them. She vaguely listened to their gossip as she was busy casting Stacey jokingly scowls, who was but a few yards away, among a group of women, all hoping to snare him. He mocked Elizabeth for her frivolous choice of gown, while she teased him for flirting with so many women; women he had no interest in. They had made quite an amusing game of it.

 

When she could no longer draw Stacey's attention, she followed to what had captured his consideration, finding Evie, a farming girl she had never spoken to. She was dressed in a simple white linen and her hair was unbound and unruly, spiraling around her curvy waistline. It seemed she did not come to dance, but to search for her stepfather, who was drinking outside the dance, concealed beneath the trees and in the dark, with the other town drunks.

 

Elizabeth cocked her head trying to read her brother’s reflection. He seemed immersed in the girl, but yet he was smirking at her in a teasing manner. Elizabeth watched Evie glance about for her stepfather and when her eyes landed on Stacey, she cast him a sassy flash, and then turned in a quick motion to leave the dance. Stacey chuckled out loud, but Evie did not seem the least bit amused.

 

When she passed Elizabeth and her friends, Lori, who was a cousin to Stetson Mason, snapped, “Aww, looks like Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep.”

 

Mortified, Elizabeth froze as her friends burst into embellished laughter, drawing attention. Evie paused, glanced their way, rolled her eyes, then made her way into the darkness. Another friend of Elizabeth’s, a wealthy rancher’s daughter, called out, “Nice dress! What is it made from? Burlap?”

 

This time the girls laughed even louder, making sure it followed Evie beyond the dance.

 

“Did you see her hair? She wears it unbound like some floozy.”

 

“I heard she was a floozy! All those plow girls are! Remember that Dixie?”

 

“I am going home!” Elizabeth interrupted her friends. Before they could reply, she jerked Stacey away from a pretty girl and dragged him toward the carriage.

 

“What is the matter with you?”

 

“Nothing! It is just time to leave.”

 

Stacey chuckled. Ten minutes ago, she was teasing him from across the dance, now she seemed angry with the world. _Women; he would never understand them._

 


	12. Stubborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear friend Avalon is recovering from surgery and as her beta I will be posting in her stead. I apologize for the late updates. She granted me access to her google docs and passwords last month but I have been too busy to read over them and post. I will try to correct and post all the chapters she has written to all her stories ASAP. Thanks!

Elizabeth claimed that she needed to buy thread, when in reality she had more than enough. She would use any excuse just to get a ride into town. Stacey knew this, but always the indulgent brother, he never let on that he knew.

 

They were paying up in the general store when a small-boned Cheyenne woman with her toddler in hand entered. Evie came in behind them and headed toward the flour sacks.

 

“Thank you, Miss. Elizabeth. Hope to see you and Stacey again soon. And give my regards to your grandfather,” said Mrs. Monroe, then in a harsh tone, she directed her attention to the native mother and ordered her out of the store, ending in, “We do not serve your kind here!”

 

The woman, understanding English, glanced sadly at the sacks of flour, then headed back out the door.

 

“It is not like she had the money to pay for it anyway,” growled Mr. Monroe.

 

“Good day. See you both in church Sunday,” Stacey said as he ushered his sister out the door.

 

As Elizabeth and Stacey waited for their wagon to be loaded, they watched Evie leave the store and head toward the native woman, who was sitting on a bench with her son.

 

Evie extended a small sack of flour and said, “For the necklace.”

 

Smiling, the native woman nodded and placed her bear claw necklace around Evie’s neck. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the flour.

 

As they parted, Elizabeth stopped Evie. “Evie, right?”

 

“Yes. What do you want, Elizabeth Grainger?” Evie said, making it a point that she knew exactly who Elizabeth was. Everyone in the county knew the Grainger family.

 

“I am sorry for how my friends treated you the other night. I want you to know that I do not share their sentiment.”

 

Evie met Elizabeth's gaze and found it was sincere. She had heard that Elizabeth bore a gentle heart and was kind to anyone who was kind to her. _Too bad her brother did not share her qualities_ , Evie thought. Instead of making her mental thoughts verbal, she thanked Elizabeth, but before she could be on her way, Elizabeth asked, “Why did you that?”

 

“She is Cheyenne; a native. I had to trade. She has too much pride to accept a handout.”

 

Stacey cocked his head, following the conversation. _Not only was Evie ignorant of Wyoming, she was of natives as well._

 

“No, I mean why did you give her the flour when you have so little yourself?”

 

When Evie appeared a little fluttered, Elizabeth tried to smooth over her words. “I am sorry. I do not mean to pry or be presumptuous; I just know how hard you famers have it here. It was kind of you to give away something you need to someone considered the enemy.”

 

Now Evie was quick to reply. “She is not my enemy. I do not consider her race enemies. I grew up in a place where my people lived in harmony beside the Cherokee.”

 

“Well our natives are not your gentle Cherokee people and you should consider them your enemy.  They sure consider you theirs. They’d take your scalp in a heartbeat if not for the army confining them.”

 

Elizabeth edged back silently and watched the flames fly. She knew her brother would not take kindly to anyone defending the people who had murdered their parents. While she did not particularly favor natives, she did not blame the entire race for the slaying of her family.

 

“Maybe so, but it is no less than we deserve. This is their land and we have stolen it from them!”

 

“Stolen it? Wrong! It was won through war. Conquered! That is not the same as thievery. War is noble. It has rules and spoils, and the very land you are standing upon was a spoil.”

 

“War noble? You call germ warfare noble? You call genocide noble? Is noble massacring thousands of women and children? Stacey, your definition of noble is not the same as mine. But that is what I’d expect from a greedy land baron!” Her piece said, she turned her back on the Grainger siblings and started on foot home. She would take her time walking. She knew when she got home without the flour, she would go one on one with a belt.

 

“Ignorant foolish girl!” Stacey muttered to himself, seething.

 

After helping his sister board the wagon, he sat down beside her and slashed the reins. Evie had gotten to him. It showed in his demeanor.

 

Elizabeth placed her arm around his back and faintly said, “She is sort of right you know.”

 

Stacey looked at her straight in her eyes and huffed, “No, she isn't, Elizabeth. She is wrong. Dead wrong.”

 

“Well then, she has a good heart, and that you cannot deny, brother.”

 

_And he didn’t._ To give something away that one needed to survive was the true definition of noble. Stacey knew that, but he was not about to verbally admit it.

 

“What was that about your friends?” He asked after his temper had cooled a few miles later.

 

“Lori and Mary mocked her simple clothing. They were very rude to her. I know they must have hurt her feelings.”

 

“She is poor. She cannot help her situation. And what those girls did to her was wrong. When you see someone doing something wrong, Elizabeth, and you do not nothing, then you are just as guilty.”

 

Elizabeth sucked in her bottom lip. _Stacey was right._ Suddenly pensive, she rationalized, “What the ranchers are doing to the farmers is wrong. And you are doing more than standing idly by and watching. You are helping them do it. You are wrong too.”

 

“That’s different.”

 

“How so?”

 

“The farmers are threatening our way of life. We are fighting back to survive. This is war and war calls for desperate measures.”

 

Elizabeth, who pitied the farmers, disagreed, but remained silent. To speak her mind wouldn't alter Stacey’s one bit. He was stubborn - too stubborn for his own good. He too often did not see his own faults until he hurt someone, but usually by then, it was too late.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [](https://imgbb.com/)


End file.
